Mom came home with me when I left Fargo. Perhaps I should say home with us, as my sister Gayle was along. Gayle stayed a few days then went home. Mom and I went about our days. We shopped, we toured places, we lunched, we played cards, we watched tv and read. We did normal things. I had more planned. I wanted to take her to Stone Mountain. I wanted her to see Callaway Gardens, especially the chapel on the lake. I wanted to sit on the porch and talk more.
While Gayle was here, I got out the calendar and started talking about which days she wanted to go to Gayles. She didn't want to and I figured it was because she needed to settle in a bit more. Gayle seemed to understand and did not make a big deal of it. If she comes, she comes. What a great attitude, but I thought I could feel her disappointment. So, several days after Gayle left, I broached the subject again. We called Gayle and she mentioned 'her' Rick's birthday was that weekend and that spurred mom on..."birthday cake" she exclaimed!
We hit the road Thursday after work, having lunch on the road which was messier than I had anticipated. I realized that I never really think in advance that Moms dominant right hand is unusable. (Since her stroke). We had a good supper there and I left about noon the next day, thinking I would see Mom within a week, if not sooner.
Gayle really thought of everything. She had gotten her a jigsaw puzzle to work, and planned to get more. There were movies to watch and a trip to the mountains on the weekend for Ricks birthday. I am constantly in awe of this little sister who seems to have it all together. And, as I drove away, I had a thought that this may be the perfect place for Mom. Gayle didn't have a part-time job to contend with, a book club to attend, and other trappings I enjoy.
So I get word that they are coming back in Sunday. I had really hoped it would be sooner. Then later....that it may be next Monday or Tuesday depending on some work her truck needed. I offered to come and my help was refused. Gayle wanted to drive her back. Now I have feelings to sort out and I need to get out of myself and look at this from Moms point of view.
I miss having her here. I feel I didn't get much time with her alone. But I have to focus on the reason I asked her to come. I wanted her to experience the wonderfullness of the south, whether it's my Georgia or Gayles South Carolina. I wanted her to see this as an option for the cold winters in Fargo. (Of course, if Mom were to be here with me longer than a week, I would quit my two mornings a week job.)
Truth be told, I have missed Mom for much longer than this week. I have missed her since I moved out east in 2001. And I have missed her even more since her stroke since she suffers with aphasia and it is really hard to have a phone conversation with someone who sometimes can only get out one sentence or two and its sometimes a repeat of what you have just said.
When I lived in Fargo, I would see her for lunch a couple days a week, spend Saturday afternoons at her condo, go shopping with her and talk on the phone every other day. I miss Mom. And I have to think she also misses me and those days. Even after I moved, we would spend hours in the phone a couple days a week. Wow...we all need to savor the time we have with loved ones while we and they are able.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Visiting Home (?)
I am "home" in Fargo-Moorhead...the FM area, as it is called because even though the Red River divides the states of Minnesota and North Dakota, the towns seem to roll along as one.
I have had a unidentifiable creeping sensation the last few days, as if in a dream. It's only been a week since driving out of Georgia, yet I am missing it so, and my life there. Here, my life seems blurry, a little lacking in definition. Then it came to me this morning during a cup of coffee and sadness. It no longer feels like home here. I didn't go home, I left home. I am an alien, a Visitor, a ghost of days gone by.
My favorite place to be when here is with my daughters family...it is wonderful to actually converse in person, get and give hugs and kisses, watch faces as we play and talk and eat and rest together. But it's much different from visiting my daughter in Washington. The reason is I am pulled in other directions.
As much as I love to be with Tracy, I also love seeing my Mom and sisters, which sometimes seems like a balancing act. In Washington there is no other competing family doings. Certainly, this is no problem...it can fill a day and it's nice to be busy. I am just never prepared for the emotional strain I cause within myself. Guilt because I am not seeing Mom every day is the ever-present feeling and I try my hardest to get there at some point morning, afternoon or evening. Some days are just impossible. I also want to help with my grandkids and do as much with them as I can.
I have to come to grips with the fact that I am a tourist and you know that when one vacations, they still cannot do everything or see everything they want. I am confident that God will steer me on this trip because I really am an alien, tourist, visitor anywhere I go. My home is in heaven with Him and one day I will go HOME for good. There will be no guilt, no balancing act, no sadness....and I will still be with the ones I love!
I have had a unidentifiable creeping sensation the last few days, as if in a dream. It's only been a week since driving out of Georgia, yet I am missing it so, and my life there. Here, my life seems blurry, a little lacking in definition. Then it came to me this morning during a cup of coffee and sadness. It no longer feels like home here. I didn't go home, I left home. I am an alien, a Visitor, a ghost of days gone by.
My favorite place to be when here is with my daughters family...it is wonderful to actually converse in person, get and give hugs and kisses, watch faces as we play and talk and eat and rest together. But it's much different from visiting my daughter in Washington. The reason is I am pulled in other directions.
As much as I love to be with Tracy, I also love seeing my Mom and sisters, which sometimes seems like a balancing act. In Washington there is no other competing family doings. Certainly, this is no problem...it can fill a day and it's nice to be busy. I am just never prepared for the emotional strain I cause within myself. Guilt because I am not seeing Mom every day is the ever-present feeling and I try my hardest to get there at some point morning, afternoon or evening. Some days are just impossible. I also want to help with my grandkids and do as much with them as I can.
I have to come to grips with the fact that I am a tourist and you know that when one vacations, they still cannot do everything or see everything they want. I am confident that God will steer me on this trip because I really am an alien, tourist, visitor anywhere I go. My home is in heaven with Him and one day I will go HOME for good. There will be no guilt, no balancing act, no sadness....and I will still be with the ones I love!
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
A Very Good Look at My World
I am sitting inside a little box, right in the middle of God's creation. It's not an especially unattractive little box, to me, anyway....but what kind of view does He have? The view from my windows is of beauty and wonder. (Yes, at least my little box has windows!) I love looking at the majestic backyard trees, especially the ones with the huge leaves. Sunlight dances along the branches, playing tag with the shade. The bark of the trees looks a million years old but I know it is not....it is simply aged. Birds play on the branches and sometimes sit on the fence top and serenade creation...a squirrel scampers along the fence supports...eyes darting back and forth, perhaps on the lookout for my dog or another predator. This is my morning window to the world and I love this world. It is primitive and pristine. No matter what we try to do in the backyard, nature wins. And while my husband shakes his head and keeps trying to grow grass and cut down trees that have grown where they shouldn't...I secretly smile at the bald patches of ground and the trees that keep trying to grow back.
The front yard of my box is another story. Here, I try to grow flowers. I try to vary the planting so there is always something in bloom but I have to say my favorites are the Spring offerings of iris, lily, gladiola, daffodil, gerber daisy, sheffelera, and roses. Right now, the gladiolus have just given up the ghost and the zinnias are in full bloom. I have others that bloom but have forgotten some of the names. My star jasmine plant is an Olympian climber that I am excited about, wanting to create a plant wall on the side of the porch. Here in a corner of the flower bed, right next to the walkway to the door, a stubborn tree tries to grow. Jim will cut or pull it down but doesn't get to the root and and it keeps coming back. Now it is three-in-one. I say we dig it out and plant it in the yard. Something that persistent should be celebrated and allowed to grow free. I think I may have to do this myself. Today may be the day.
This little box I call home is my sanctuary where I meet The Lord every day. We look out on His creation and walk out in it, work in it, celebrate it...and we call it VERY GOOD.
The front yard of my box is another story. Here, I try to grow flowers. I try to vary the planting so there is always something in bloom but I have to say my favorites are the Spring offerings of iris, lily, gladiola, daffodil, gerber daisy, sheffelera, and roses. Right now, the gladiolus have just given up the ghost and the zinnias are in full bloom. I have others that bloom but have forgotten some of the names. My star jasmine plant is an Olympian climber that I am excited about, wanting to create a plant wall on the side of the porch. Here in a corner of the flower bed, right next to the walkway to the door, a stubborn tree tries to grow. Jim will cut or pull it down but doesn't get to the root and and it keeps coming back. Now it is three-in-one. I say we dig it out and plant it in the yard. Something that persistent should be celebrated and allowed to grow free. I think I may have to do this myself. Today may be the day.
This little box I call home is my sanctuary where I meet The Lord every day. We look out on His creation and walk out in it, work in it, celebrate it...and we call it VERY GOOD.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Thought for Food
I am not hungry. No, I have not been dieting. I did not eat a big breakfast. I had a half apple, golden delicious, with a cup of French-brewed coffee. I had coffee with God while reading and meditating on the book of Ephesians this morning. Then WHAM! Out of nowhere, I started thinking about food.
I was thinking how deliberate mothers, and grandmothers for that matter, are about feeding children their fruits and vegetables. I really do applaud that, I truly do. I struggle to get my husband to eat fruits and vegetables so it is like having a child at the table sometimes. :) Then I tried to get my head back into my childhood. The older I get, the more random my memories, but, like the song says, one thing 'does' lead to another.
It was the canned age, although we did grow some vegetables in the garden. Mom could cook all the canned peas she wanted but I hated them. On the other hand, I loved the raw peas from the garden and when I was supposed to be shelling them...I confess I ate nearly as much. We had fresh carrots right out of the garden. In fact, my Dad would pull one up (while we walked with him in the garden, having to endure his narrative on all he planted and how great it was coming up), wipe the dirt on his pants, hand it to us and we'd eat it. In those days I did not eat onion in any form and thought it was so yucky when Dad would pull up a big onion and eat it right before supper. And I was seated next to him, smelling his breath for about an hour, or so it seemed. After getting a nickel to try a radish, I found l liked them dipped in salt. The same with rhubarb, only dipped in sugar. That was a treat and it was great when the rhubarb was coming in. We helped Dad plant potatoes and loved red potatoes out of the garden with lots of butter. We lived on the farm then, and I was in the fifth grade when we moved there. When I was born, Dad was a hired hand in the little house. Now we lived in the big house on just a few acres.
I remember the bleak years when we lived in town. Dad was working a couple jobs and mom was an LPN at the local hospital. We did everything we could to save money. But we didn't like it. Dad would mix our milk into a pitcher that was half milk and half water with powdered milk. A sandwich was one piece of bread folded over with a half piece of bologna or peanut butter or jelly...not both. We had Campbell's tomato or chicken soup or a sandwich for lunch and sometimes supper. If Dad was home for supper, we would have meat, usually a hamburger casserole of some sort. I don't remember having a lot of meat until we got a little older. When Mom made Kool-Aid, she added less sugar than called for. Little things helped us get by in the lean times. Our Grandma Ben would send money every year before school so we could go uptown in Moorhead, Mn. to Anthony's and get one new dress for the year. It was so exciting! Then Dad would take us all to get new shoes and winter coats, grumbling how we had grown and how much it cost him.
On the farm. Mom baked more, or I remember it more. And while I was thinking of Mom and food, it occurred to me how she showed her love for me in her cooking. I didn't like nuts, so there was always a row at the end of the brownie pan with no nuts. I didn't like cheese so when the other kids were getting toasted cheese sandwiches, I got toasted peanut butter...yum...I don't make it now (because I like cheese now) but I remember the buttery warm taste in my mouth! I didn't like onions so she would omit them or cut them so small I didn't notice. I didn't like coconut so if she put that on the frosting of a cake, some was left off. She went out of her way to provide something we would all eat and enjoy!
Remembering food did not make me hungry, but it made me mad. In those days leftovers were eaten. Unfortunately, sometimes we end up throwing them out and I think I am the most wasteful human being on the planet. Or, we let something go bad (past the date or getting green fuzz on it) without finishing it or even opening it. In my goal to shop and plan in advance, I am sometimes more wasteful, whereas Jim tends to stop at the store several times a week for fresh meat and what we may like with it. I hate to think of people going hungry while I could have a food orgy in my kitchen. So, I hope to be better, give more food to the hungry, buy less food, throw out less food and maybe in the process, I can even save some money like my hardworking parents did. I can do this, with God's help and I praise Him for His blessings of abundance and the Holy Spirit that nudges me to do the right thing.
I was thinking how deliberate mothers, and grandmothers for that matter, are about feeding children their fruits and vegetables. I really do applaud that, I truly do. I struggle to get my husband to eat fruits and vegetables so it is like having a child at the table sometimes. :) Then I tried to get my head back into my childhood. The older I get, the more random my memories, but, like the song says, one thing 'does' lead to another.
It was the canned age, although we did grow some vegetables in the garden. Mom could cook all the canned peas she wanted but I hated them. On the other hand, I loved the raw peas from the garden and when I was supposed to be shelling them...I confess I ate nearly as much. We had fresh carrots right out of the garden. In fact, my Dad would pull one up (while we walked with him in the garden, having to endure his narrative on all he planted and how great it was coming up), wipe the dirt on his pants, hand it to us and we'd eat it. In those days I did not eat onion in any form and thought it was so yucky when Dad would pull up a big onion and eat it right before supper. And I was seated next to him, smelling his breath for about an hour, or so it seemed. After getting a nickel to try a radish, I found l liked them dipped in salt. The same with rhubarb, only dipped in sugar. That was a treat and it was great when the rhubarb was coming in. We helped Dad plant potatoes and loved red potatoes out of the garden with lots of butter. We lived on the farm then, and I was in the fifth grade when we moved there. When I was born, Dad was a hired hand in the little house. Now we lived in the big house on just a few acres.
I remember the bleak years when we lived in town. Dad was working a couple jobs and mom was an LPN at the local hospital. We did everything we could to save money. But we didn't like it. Dad would mix our milk into a pitcher that was half milk and half water with powdered milk. A sandwich was one piece of bread folded over with a half piece of bologna or peanut butter or jelly...not both. We had Campbell's tomato or chicken soup or a sandwich for lunch and sometimes supper. If Dad was home for supper, we would have meat, usually a hamburger casserole of some sort. I don't remember having a lot of meat until we got a little older. When Mom made Kool-Aid, she added less sugar than called for. Little things helped us get by in the lean times. Our Grandma Ben would send money every year before school so we could go uptown in Moorhead, Mn. to Anthony's and get one new dress for the year. It was so exciting! Then Dad would take us all to get new shoes and winter coats, grumbling how we had grown and how much it cost him.
On the farm. Mom baked more, or I remember it more. And while I was thinking of Mom and food, it occurred to me how she showed her love for me in her cooking. I didn't like nuts, so there was always a row at the end of the brownie pan with no nuts. I didn't like cheese so when the other kids were getting toasted cheese sandwiches, I got toasted peanut butter...yum...I don't make it now (because I like cheese now) but I remember the buttery warm taste in my mouth! I didn't like onions so she would omit them or cut them so small I didn't notice. I didn't like coconut so if she put that on the frosting of a cake, some was left off. She went out of her way to provide something we would all eat and enjoy!
Remembering food did not make me hungry, but it made me mad. In those days leftovers were eaten. Unfortunately, sometimes we end up throwing them out and I think I am the most wasteful human being on the planet. Or, we let something go bad (past the date or getting green fuzz on it) without finishing it or even opening it. In my goal to shop and plan in advance, I am sometimes more wasteful, whereas Jim tends to stop at the store several times a week for fresh meat and what we may like with it. I hate to think of people going hungry while I could have a food orgy in my kitchen. So, I hope to be better, give more food to the hungry, buy less food, throw out less food and maybe in the process, I can even save some money like my hardworking parents did. I can do this, with God's help and I praise Him for His blessings of abundance and the Holy Spirit that nudges me to do the right thing.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Unbeautiful
I have been amazed, these last few weeks on vacation, of the continual beauty in my life and the world I live. It never ceases. I can find beauty everywhere, easily. It is seen, felt, tasted, heard, smelled. It is life itself and it is all a bounteous gift from God.
As we drive along the highways and gravel roads: trees, sky, clouds, storms, billboards, animals, vehicles, houses, yards, gardens, fields, shopping centers, gas stations, restaurants, ditches, bushes, flowers, fences...they stretch like ribbons or they pop up here and there; they cause me to laugh or cause me concern; they entertain me and intrigue me; they give me ideas I somehow can't put to paper; they work my imagination. They are beautiful.
As we attend weddings: laughing brides with smiling husbands, photo opportunities, children dashing about, celebration foods and drinks, smiling hellos to friends and relatives we have missed then tearful goodbyes, gowns and party dresses, ties and vests, cakes, flowers, hugs and kisses, receiving lines and guest books, brightly ribboned gifts and thoughtful cards, music and musicians, wrinkled faces and fresh baby skin, oooh's and ahhhh's...they are life-giving, enriching, dramatic, and so beautiful.
As we relax on the lake: endless blue sky reflected on water, rice and weed beds, the chug of the motor, the ripples the pontoon makes on the water, the sun so life-giving and bright, the slight whip and whirr of my line as I cast, the leech and minnows that dance (for a time) on my hook, the thrill of reeling in a northern, a sunfish, a bass, a baby walleye (all good little fighters), my dog's excitement as she tries to kiss and bite my catch, Belle's bark as she impatiently waits for me to get my line back in the water...it's a beautiful respite, a time to be alone with God and His creation even while I am with my husband and dog.
As we relax at the lake: the RV sitting in it's same spot for the last 6 years or so, the deck with it's "Beware of Dog" sign that doesn't really matter, the flowered flag waving (a different one this year), the decked out deck with furniture and shade umbrella, then the first step inside...and we are home, the recliner that fits my body perfectly, the perfect sized table, cooking on that little stove, trying to get groceries into that little fridge, washing dishes in my "playhouse" sink, the fun corner shower I bump my elbows on at times, the familiar towels, the resort bathhouse, the resort lodge...it is all calming to the soul and beautiful to me.
Again, I can use all my 5 senses for this beauty in God's world, for these beautiful experiences He affords me.
My family and friends are beautiful. I find something beautiful about each of them with my eyes and my ears. Some beauty I find deep within them by trial and error, by knowing them, by intuition. Some share their beautiful thoughts, ideas, life. Some invite me in. For some, my life is intertwined with theirs in different, wondrous ways.
But, at the end of these two weeks, I, myself, feel very unbeautiful. I feel I have been drinking from a deep well and taking it all in but giving nothing of beauty back to the world, back to God. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I were beautiful on the outside, and wish I were...however, I have come to terms with how God made me and I know I do have beauty within, or had it. I feel like I need to find part of myself again, so I have more to give. Whatever happens or doesn't to the outside of me...I am going to get back to work on the inside of me, with God's help...so I can truly be a beautiful gift to Him and to the world.
As we drive along the highways and gravel roads: trees, sky, clouds, storms, billboards, animals, vehicles, houses, yards, gardens, fields, shopping centers, gas stations, restaurants, ditches, bushes, flowers, fences...they stretch like ribbons or they pop up here and there; they cause me to laugh or cause me concern; they entertain me and intrigue me; they give me ideas I somehow can't put to paper; they work my imagination. They are beautiful.
As we attend weddings: laughing brides with smiling husbands, photo opportunities, children dashing about, celebration foods and drinks, smiling hellos to friends and relatives we have missed then tearful goodbyes, gowns and party dresses, ties and vests, cakes, flowers, hugs and kisses, receiving lines and guest books, brightly ribboned gifts and thoughtful cards, music and musicians, wrinkled faces and fresh baby skin, oooh's and ahhhh's...they are life-giving, enriching, dramatic, and so beautiful.
As we relax on the lake: endless blue sky reflected on water, rice and weed beds, the chug of the motor, the ripples the pontoon makes on the water, the sun so life-giving and bright, the slight whip and whirr of my line as I cast, the leech and minnows that dance (for a time) on my hook, the thrill of reeling in a northern, a sunfish, a bass, a baby walleye (all good little fighters), my dog's excitement as she tries to kiss and bite my catch, Belle's bark as she impatiently waits for me to get my line back in the water...it's a beautiful respite, a time to be alone with God and His creation even while I am with my husband and dog.
As we relax at the lake: the RV sitting in it's same spot for the last 6 years or so, the deck with it's "Beware of Dog" sign that doesn't really matter, the flowered flag waving (a different one this year), the decked out deck with furniture and shade umbrella, then the first step inside...and we are home, the recliner that fits my body perfectly, the perfect sized table, cooking on that little stove, trying to get groceries into that little fridge, washing dishes in my "playhouse" sink, the fun corner shower I bump my elbows on at times, the familiar towels, the resort bathhouse, the resort lodge...it is all calming to the soul and beautiful to me.
Again, I can use all my 5 senses for this beauty in God's world, for these beautiful experiences He affords me.
My family and friends are beautiful. I find something beautiful about each of them with my eyes and my ears. Some beauty I find deep within them by trial and error, by knowing them, by intuition. Some share their beautiful thoughts, ideas, life. Some invite me in. For some, my life is intertwined with theirs in different, wondrous ways.
But, at the end of these two weeks, I, myself, feel very unbeautiful. I feel I have been drinking from a deep well and taking it all in but giving nothing of beauty back to the world, back to God. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I were beautiful on the outside, and wish I were...however, I have come to terms with how God made me and I know I do have beauty within, or had it. I feel like I need to find part of myself again, so I have more to give. Whatever happens or doesn't to the outside of me...I am going to get back to work on the inside of me, with God's help...so I can truly be a beautiful gift to Him and to the world.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
A Taste of Honey
So.... after a day of "wool and wild honey" at Hedgerow Farm near Bishop, GA, I am relaxing in a lavender bubble bath pondering bees.
The name , Debra, means "A bee" in Hebrew, English, and Biblical baby name books. I have also seen it further described as "seeker" and "truth seeker", describing the Judge Deborah in the Bible. Maybe this is why I have always had a fondness for bees, demonstrated in my preferred choice of stationary, books, hand towels, and decorative pins. This bee fondness, has not extended to their honey product. But, I wanted to learn more about these fascinating creatures!
On this day, our book club was enjoying a 'field trip' to round out the study of Margaret Feinberg's Scouting the Divine my search for God in wine, wool, and wild honey. Arranged by our study leader, Dena, we drove 2-1/2 hours to visit Hedgerow Farm, the indescribable home of her brother's family. Our gracious host, sister-in-law, Lisa Douglas eagerly welcomed us and endured endless questions as we mined her knowledge and experience.
While one group took a carriage ride, the rest of us met Rosie, the guard and companion dog for a cow and her calf as we walked the road to the bee hives. I noticed there was one hive on the left side of the road, sheltered by trees while the remainder of the hives were grouped on the right side of the road along the tree line. I asked if these bees had done something wrong, as they appeared to be living "on the wrong side of the road". She laughed, telling me they were Russian bees, whispering the queens were nasty bitches...then she spoke of the Italian bees, which most around here descend from, and their mating habits with any drone around, some feral. There is no way the breed stays pure, which is not an objective, anyway.
After another group of carriage riders and lunch, we visited the sheep. Lisa referred to them as "Jacob sheep", the same as the sheep in the Old Testament. They were so different from the sheep we raised on our farm in North Dakota and was I used to seeing on car rides. To me, their faces were goat-like and they had horns, some two, some four. Of course, we could not get too close, being a group of 8, without them changing direction. One 4 month old sheep, Clyde, saw Lisa as Mom and clung to her at times. His sheep Mom had started butting him at birth, in rejection they feared, so Lisa had bottle-fed him. We were able to get close and feel his coat, so pretty and wavy almost to a relaxed ringlet and so soft. These type of sheep do some shedding as a natural self-shearing, but Lisa still has shearers come out to finish the job. She spoke of having to find the right shearer, who wasn't too rough with them, who took his time and was gentle. She shared how she chose names and why some were tail snubbed and some not. We learned there is a logical reason for everything and even her naming process is an aid for remembrance. The love and care for her sheep was evident in how she spoke of them and how she spoke to them. The words Gentle Shepherdess come to mind when I think of Lisa with her sheep. Of course we were given much more information than I can write here!
After walking through the orchard and gardens, pausing to admire the brickwork and hearing the story of the fences, I stopped on a fire ant home. Lisa was my deliverer! As I threw off shoes and socks she ran for the unscented ban deodorant, which I rolled all over. She then had me chew plantain leaves and spread them around my ankles. I had no problems after that. Earlier, we had rubbed lemon balm leaves on our arms and legs and squirted ourselves with lemon balm water to fend off mosquitos, which worked beautifully...things I will need to plant and use.
Up at the house, I notice a quart jar about 2/3 filled with a dark honey and asked if it was from her bees. She said it was the end of last years honey and she would give us some. (unlike some beekeepers, she only collects once a year)
I confessed that I had never tasted their treasure, after she started filling little jars, but my husband would love it. She said that I would be surprised at how often she has heard that and urged me to take a taste...she said it was more a connoisseur's honey as it is less sweet...not from clover, but from some other sources like lavender and some other types of flowers she named.
Feeling brave now, I tasted some of Lisa's honey and I loved it! Like a wine, I slowly let it move around in my mouth and swallowed a melody of blends. Tasting the honey was like smelling a variety of blooms. There was not one I could identify, but all together they were a symphony in my mouth!
I have my little treasured jar in the kitchen and as my bubbles are starting to disappear, I am just wondering what a half teaspoon would do to my lavender bath, to my skin, to my senses.... "Nah!" my taste buds yell, "What a waste!" and I know I will cherish every small spoonful and work up elaborate plans when to do so and with what foods (Lisa gave me some great ideas!) and drinks, and settings, and with whom I will share....
Oh, I can't stand it! Mysteries await! I actually like honey!
The name , Debra, means "A bee" in Hebrew, English, and Biblical baby name books. I have also seen it further described as "seeker" and "truth seeker", describing the Judge Deborah in the Bible. Maybe this is why I have always had a fondness for bees, demonstrated in my preferred choice of stationary, books, hand towels, and decorative pins. This bee fondness, has not extended to their honey product. But, I wanted to learn more about these fascinating creatures!
On this day, our book club was enjoying a 'field trip' to round out the study of Margaret Feinberg's Scouting the Divine my search for God in wine, wool, and wild honey. Arranged by our study leader, Dena, we drove 2-1/2 hours to visit Hedgerow Farm, the indescribable home of her brother's family. Our gracious host, sister-in-law, Lisa Douglas eagerly welcomed us and endured endless questions as we mined her knowledge and experience.
While one group took a carriage ride, the rest of us met Rosie, the guard and companion dog for a cow and her calf as we walked the road to the bee hives. I noticed there was one hive on the left side of the road, sheltered by trees while the remainder of the hives were grouped on the right side of the road along the tree line. I asked if these bees had done something wrong, as they appeared to be living "on the wrong side of the road". She laughed, telling me they were Russian bees, whispering the queens were nasty bitches...then she spoke of the Italian bees, which most around here descend from, and their mating habits with any drone around, some feral. There is no way the breed stays pure, which is not an objective, anyway.
After another group of carriage riders and lunch, we visited the sheep. Lisa referred to them as "Jacob sheep", the same as the sheep in the Old Testament. They were so different from the sheep we raised on our farm in North Dakota and was I used to seeing on car rides. To me, their faces were goat-like and they had horns, some two, some four. Of course, we could not get too close, being a group of 8, without them changing direction. One 4 month old sheep, Clyde, saw Lisa as Mom and clung to her at times. His sheep Mom had started butting him at birth, in rejection they feared, so Lisa had bottle-fed him. We were able to get close and feel his coat, so pretty and wavy almost to a relaxed ringlet and so soft. These type of sheep do some shedding as a natural self-shearing, but Lisa still has shearers come out to finish the job. She spoke of having to find the right shearer, who wasn't too rough with them, who took his time and was gentle. She shared how she chose names and why some were tail snubbed and some not. We learned there is a logical reason for everything and even her naming process is an aid for remembrance. The love and care for her sheep was evident in how she spoke of them and how she spoke to them. The words Gentle Shepherdess come to mind when I think of Lisa with her sheep. Of course we were given much more information than I can write here!
After walking through the orchard and gardens, pausing to admire the brickwork and hearing the story of the fences, I stopped on a fire ant home. Lisa was my deliverer! As I threw off shoes and socks she ran for the unscented ban deodorant, which I rolled all over. She then had me chew plantain leaves and spread them around my ankles. I had no problems after that. Earlier, we had rubbed lemon balm leaves on our arms and legs and squirted ourselves with lemon balm water to fend off mosquitos, which worked beautifully...things I will need to plant and use.
Up at the house, I notice a quart jar about 2/3 filled with a dark honey and asked if it was from her bees. She said it was the end of last years honey and she would give us some. (unlike some beekeepers, she only collects once a year)
Feeling brave now, I tasted some of Lisa's honey and I loved it! Like a wine, I slowly let it move around in my mouth and swallowed a melody of blends. Tasting the honey was like smelling a variety of blooms. There was not one I could identify, but all together they were a symphony in my mouth!
I have my little treasured jar in the kitchen and as my bubbles are starting to disappear, I am just wondering what a half teaspoon would do to my lavender bath, to my skin, to my senses.... "Nah!" my taste buds yell, "What a waste!" and I know I will cherish every small spoonful and work up elaborate plans when to do so and with what foods (Lisa gave me some great ideas!) and drinks, and settings, and with whom I will share....
Oh, I can't stand it! Mysteries await! I actually like honey!
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
KITE FLYING
O what a beautiful day, Lord!
How the gentle breezes sway
The lush, new leaves of trees
causing the sunlight to tease
Running to and fro across my table.
No breezes came this weekend, Lord.
We were hoping some you'd send
For a-kiting we would go
With two grandkids in tow
And oh what fun we had planned.
Now the breezes are here, Lord.
But grandkids are not near
With kites still on my mind
Flying with Jim, I may find
To be a new plan of fun today.
O what a beautiful day, Lord!
How the gentle breezes sway
The lush, new leaves of trees
causing the sunlight to tease
Running to and fro across my table.
No breezes came this weekend, Lord.
We were hoping some you'd send
For a-kiting we would go
With two grandkids in tow
And oh what fun we had planned.
Now the breezes are here, Lord.
But grandkids are not near
With kites still on my mind
Flying with Jim, I may find
To be a new plan of fun today.
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